


olympus; you, me, and every fallen god

by keithundead



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: First Dates, Love Confessions, Lowercase, M/M, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Stream of Consciousness, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 23:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithundead/pseuds/keithundead
Summary: when the person you love needs to be convinced that you love them.
Relationships: Awsten Knight/De'Wayne Jackson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	olympus; you, me, and every fallen god

behind you is a long list of lost soulmates.

your skull is hades, and the pits of your mind are tartarus. the place where love goes to die. where hope slips through the jagged stalagmites of your brain, only to disappear in crumbling evanescence. 

it is dark there. 

it is all you've ever known.

behind you is the heart you used to have; new and pure. it was excitable. it was fresh, it was all beginnings and no ends. it was a car driving at seventy miles per hour. scratch that- eighty. that heart would beat at eighty miles per hour and every love you felt was new and exciting.

the broken hearts meant nothing and everything at the same time, you would cry yourself happy. sick.

until you realized something.

you are the problem. everyone leaves you. everyone ends things with you. you don't know why you came to this conclusion, but it came crashing down like the fall of olympus itself. your heart stopped beating and rotted away at the nearest sign of trouble.

trouble is what makes your heart new again.

you never wanted a new soulmate because it felt like the first time your chest sank in.

you are awsten knight, and you are a problem. problem that has been with you since you were young, that made you realize everyone leaves you and no one turns back.

eighth grade with your best friend.

twelfth grade with a drummer from another school.

twenty and a one night stand, didn't know her name, but you cared so much, because it was your first one night stand.

and now, almost thirty, with an even longer list of loves falling towards the pit of tartarus.

until...

* * *

the ride here was boring.

you are sitting in front of all the colors of the rainbow.

a head full of pink and blue and yellow, and sunken eyes that tell a story of orpheus and eurydice. lips that sing torture wrapped in a bouquet of color.

you can only see him for what he is; he is the light to your dark in every sense of the word. he thinks he has no one left, because everyone refuses to look back on him fondly (quite the opposite of orpheus, actually), but he has you.

he's had you for quite some time now. he doesn't believe it, because he cannot believe he'd belong to anybody, but he has you. you are not his everything, and you don't expect to be, and that's okay. music is his everything, and you admire him for that.

that's what drew you together. 

music, tour, recording.

recording for hours, where his hand would slip next to yours on the piano. or when his hand would brush yours across the computer keys.

personal space was never an issue. he was like this with all of his friends, because he loved showing his friends how much he loved them, and he loved being close to people.

before that, you would lean next to him on hour long rides and he would lean into you. you would see a mess of bright green on top of your heart. it would remind you that there is good in the world.

now you are sitting across from him.

some breakfast place that only the two of you know is serving pancakes and bacon.

his eyes are downcast but his head remains a clear sky. he says he is the problem and that the feelings you have for him are just pity. you begin to wonder if the nights he spent crying to you on your couch mean anything. of course they do, you think. he doesn't cry in front of anyone anymore, you remember.

that's what you tell him, anyway.

he looks at you, shocked that you remember.

to him, he is zeus and you are ganymede. in his mind, he is corrupting you, he is turning you into a lover and you don't want to be. he is far from the truth, and you could probably kiss him to shut him up right now.

but you know your boundaries. because you are his friend and you love him more than a friend should, and right now he is trying to convince you that you don't.

because you are de'wayne jackson, and you are respectful and kind. he says he's neither of those things, that he is broken and scattered across the dirty underworld. somehow, he sees you as something larger than life. you are everything he says he needs, but not enough to where he wants you. 

he says he can't want anybody, because they will slip through the jagged stalagmites of his brain again. you have no idea what that means, but you know one thing.

he is beautiful, in everything he does. even when he is pouring his heart out to you, tears dotting the tops of his cheeks. even when he is trying to tell you that you don't love him. when he is lying to protect himself, when he is a wreck before your very eyes, he is beautiful.

him being beautiful isn't what you love the most, you love his heart. his passions. his aspirations and his talents. you love how he has overcome so much. how many lovers he has had means nothing to you.

even if it was his best friend from middle school that you both still talk to.

even if it was that drummer from his hometown, or that girl whose name he doesn't remember. or the countless other people he has loved and lost. none of that means a thing to you, because as long as you have known him, he has been bleeding for help.

you can't fix him, and you don't want to, but you love him just the way he is. you reach over and grab his hand. you tell him exactly that. his eyes are wide and multicolored, reflecting the iridescent soul inside of him.

he shines in the best way possible.

his hand is in yours, in the middle of the breakfast place only the two of you know. you both sit in simple embrace in the center of the universe. once he calms down, you tell him you love him. plain and simple.

he asks if the two of you can get out of here, in a sad smile that you've grown fond of.

you say sure, because nothing compares to the ride home.

**Author's Note:**

> figured it was about time for awstayne. waynesten? to be a thing. written for a+t's slumber party podcast


End file.
